Wednesday, October 19, 2011

realistic drama.

I've thought about you so much lately.



Set me free.

All of that. 

I have so much to say and yet nothing at all at the same time. 

I'm again in a place of change.  Growth. 


I thought to myself today, "is this what I'm all about?  Is life for me this great big struggle, this holding on and letting go and trekking up the rocky mountain, sweat and tears, oh tears, yes, tears.  And all for those moments, those days, maybe weeks -- never longer -- where I feel okay with me?"

Does anyone on this earth feel completely at ease, themselves, thick-skinned and warm, for longer than a breath of time?

I have this pattern, you see.  A pattern that I've written about, joked about, talked about, analyzed, rolled around with therapist after therapist...

A pattern of self-destruction.  Of staying even when I want to leave.  Or convincing myself that it's just not good enough.  I'm not good enough.  Everything is just, so, incredibly, fucked up.

When in reality, there's beauty in the imperfect.  I just have a hard time seeing it. 

I'm still learning to stand on my own two feet and not reaching for the nearest shiny, sparkly, thing.  (That usually disguises itself in another emotional entanglement with a boy, or someone in my family that I can focus on "improving".  Let me roll my sleeves up and work nice and hard on you.)

I'm 27.  I live at home.  I still can't save money.  I still can't stay single for long.  I still can't wake up early for a consistent amount of time.  I still can't face all the fears my therapist puts in front of me.  I still can't finish my sobriety steps.   And here I am wondering why my therapist asked me if I think I'm depressed?

I'm not depressed.

This is the pattern -- this is it.

I feed myself negative thoughts.  I eat them down so quick, I don't even realize I have a choice.

Not to listen.  Not to take them in.

To tell them to stop.

I am more than what I allow myself to think.

I don't need a man.  I don't need more sleep.  I don't need to place expectations on myself that are impossible to reach.

I can just be.


I have all the tools I need.

It's all about the decision.

The jump off.

The voice that I keep forgetting to listen to.

That says "you're alright, kid.  Really, you are."

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